


A Pie Full of Filling

by bitchinlesbian



Series: Love Without You Is Death [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: A bard and a Witcher, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Fluff, Love Confessions, Lyric Genius Jaskier, M/M, Rough Sex, Smut, Teasing, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-18 21:50:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22267099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitchinlesbian/pseuds/bitchinlesbian
Summary: “That necklace really completes your whole look. It makes you almost irresistible,” Jaskier whispers, breathless. “Without it, you would be just like every other brooding man, sat in a corner with two wenches on his arms.”Geralt’s fingers lightly tickle the bard’s inner thighs, just missing what he desperately wants him to touch. “Are you trying to raise a reaction out of me? You might regret that.”“What are you going to do about it?” he taunts. Geralt stops his dancing fingers, looking into his blue-green eyes. He leans in close, features soft and welcoming. His voice is low, husky when he speaks, every word thought out to maximise the reaction he wants to get.“I’m going to fuck you until the bed breaks.”-----In which feelings are confessed through song, angst is felt, fluff creates reassurance, and smut ensures heat. A little bit of everything -- sugar, spice, and everything nice.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Love Without You Is Death [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1605841
Comments: 6
Kudos: 169





	A Pie Full of Filling

**Author's Note:**

> Absolutely obsessed with the show and the books, although this is more so based on the characters from the show because I feel like I know them better. Enjoy, and I'm sorry if it's awful, I've never written smut between two men before.

In his boots, in his hood, in his hair, chilling him all the way to the bone. He doesn’t shudder, claiming internally that he’s too manly for that, just climbing into the tent with a low grunt of disapproval. He’s cold and he’s wet and he just wants to fall asleep, half-drunk and forgetting just how harsh of a world he lives in.

Thankful that Yennefer let him borrow one of her illusionist tents for the journey, he relaxes onto the double bed, knocking back a mug of ale, but upon hearing pacing footsteps outside, his relaxation comes to a halt. “For Gods’ sake Jaskier, just come in. I can’t sleep anyway.”

“Right, well, I just wanted to let you know we’re still on schedule for tomorrow. Sleep well,” is the firm reply, only a head popped through the doorway with a tight-lipped smile. “Oh, and try not to drink too much ale. A clear head is probably the best thing for the journey, especially in all this snow.”

The bard nods before he disappears from sight again, leaving Geralt to his own devices. He can hear the wind howling and he knows it will be howling all night, but he can also hear a gentle melody, the strings of a lute humming in the near distance. Out of curiosity, wonder, want – whatever is going through his mind – the Witcher stands and listens to the solemn lyrics by the doorway.

_“The seashore is where we met_

_The cries of the seagulls set_

_In my eyes you saw light_

_For it was love at first sight_

_O, how beautiful_

_That our love is so powerful_

_Not even Death can touch us_

_Part us, hurt us, make a fuss_

_And even if you think I lie_

_This song won’t have left your cheeks dry.”_

The bard keeps strumming, murmuring possible lyrics under his breath, Geralt too far away to hear what story he’s trying to tell. _“A bard in love with a Witcher… his love refused with a snicker…”_

The fire doesn’t hide the tears on Jaskier’s face, a steady stream of them meeting the earth at his feet. The rest of the camp have gone off to have some fun in the woods, but he’s stayed behind, if only to peacefully wallow in his emotions without interruptions. He can pretend to be someone else at daytime so long as the nights stay his, a time where he doesn’t have to hide who he is.

This is their song. Not another quest every village will be singing when they pass by, but something private, for just the two of them to have memories of when they fall asleep. Not everything needs to be shared, the most romantic things being the things we keep inside. A man who barely feels and a man who feels too much know this all too well.

He sniffs and straightens up. He dries his eyes. He looks up.

“I don’t snicker.” Geralt’s smiling as he says it, with his eyes and his mouth, but the short chuckle that escapes Jaskier indicates he’s more embarrassed than cheered up. “Jaskier, how long have you, um…?”

The tears are back. “Been hopelessly, irretrievably in love with you?” He’s angry at himself for feeling what he does, for being so weak as to succumb to emotions he thought he had managed to suppress all these years. “Longer than I’d fucking like, but I never get a say in things anyway, do I? Destiny this, destiny that… When is destiny going to give me a fucking break?

“I’m not asking for you to understand, nor am I asking you to tell me you feel the same way because I can only ask for so much, but I would like if you didn’t mention this moment of weakness to anyone,” Jaskier says, desperate to regain some sort of control over the situation.

He stands. He’s said all he’s wanted to say, and he’s really not in the mood to sit around and brood in silence with the man he’s just unintentionally confessed his love to. He is so sure it’s unrequited he sees no point in staying for the slight possibility of a different response.

It’s not the first time he’s fallen for someone who could never love him back, and he’s more used to disappointment than he should be for someone so kind and full of well-intentioned actions. Destiny has been rather cruel to a man so undeserving of pain at a level like this, and fate is around to make sure the light in his soul does not go out sooner than it has to. That is how the Witcher’s hand finds the bard’s wrist before he can leave.

“It’s not a moment of weakness. This is the strongest I have ever seen you.”

There is no time for Jaskier to dispute the matter before he’s pulled into a kiss, one full of hunger and desperation and longing.

It feels wrong, it feels right, it feels new. Different, wonderful, tantalising, magical, unreal, heavenly. He could spend years describing it, but instead he chooses to live in it, to taste the fruit that has been forbidden to him for so long. It is not an opportunity he is going to waste, because there is no such thing as a second first kiss – a blessing in disguise.

“A bard in love with a Witcher and a Witcher in love with a bard. How incredibly peculiar,” Jaskier laughs, gazing at the man in front of him full of wonder. The monster in him falls silent as he tugs him towards the tent, away from the snowfall that only grows harder with all the time they spend outside.

The next kiss is different, rawer and more thought out. Neither of them is inexperienced in this field, even if it might not be obvious to one another. Geralt know Jaskier is different to his past lovers, he’s more gentle and soft, someone to care for rather than manhandle, but Jaskier isn’t a fan of letting anyone take the lead but him, more confident when he’s playing by his rules, although he’s willing to make an exception for the God among men in front of him.

Hands gently slide Jaskier’s jacket down his body, feeling around the muscles of his back and ass, kneading ever so wonderfully, creating a sensation Jaskier just can’t resist. He pulls Geralt even closer, hooking his legs around his waist, trusting him to not throw him on the bed – another time – but place him upon it, not breaking a single moment of the heat, open-mouthed kisses planted from his chin to the base of his neck, and to beyond his navel once they figure out all the buttons on the shirt and pants.

Skin on skin contact between them feels like nothing they’ve ever known before, each touch a spark, electricity in them alive in a brand-new way. Passion builds itself, the two of them moving the way it guides them, lost in a moment that seems too good to be true. Jaskier takes off the last of Geralt’s clothes, his shirt lost on the floor, his Witcher’s necklace shining in the light.

“That necklace really completes your whole look. It makes you almost irresistible,” Jaskier whispers, breathless. “Without it, you would be just like every other brooding man, sat in a corner with two wenches on his arms.”

Geralt’s fingers lightly tickle the bard’s inner thighs, just missing what he desperately wants him to touch. “Are you trying to raise a reaction out of me? You might regret that.”

“What are you going to do about it?” he taunts. Geralt stops his dancing fingers, looking into his blue-green eyes. He leans in close, features soft and welcoming. His voice is low, husky when he speaks, every word thought out to maximise the reaction _he_ wants to get.

“I’m going to fuck you until the bed breaks.”

There is no running away, a strong arm holding both of Jaskier’s above his head, trapping him exactly where he wants him. Slow, deliberate strokes have Jaskier doing his best to keep his groans to himself, even if he’s not doing well.

“Sing for me, Jaskier,” he whispers, not letting up. “You and I both know it’s one of your many talents. Like a pie full of filling.” He tugs hard and Jaskier can’t hold back any longer. His cries are louder than he expected, but Geralt finds beauty in the high notes. He’s there, he’s almost there, but the contact is broken, and he’s pulled up into a kneeling position while in agony.

Not a second to prepare before Geralt’s hand is back where it belongs, Jaskier lowered onto him, facing away. The stimulation is incredible, hands everywhere on his body, and even though he feels like he might break, he knows he is in strong, firm hands, ones that won’t let him so much as crack.

He’s never reached this White Heaven he hears people talking about, but he believes there’s a first time for everything, especially at the speed he’s being fucked at. There was not a chance that he was going to let himself be treated like an inexperienced child and he’s glad he poked the bear when he did, because now he’s riding a wave of ecstasy, eyes rolling to the back of his head.

The speed is once more picked up, Geralt’s hips finding a new angle and creating a sensation he’s only ever dreamed about. He’s lost himself in the high, his body, mind and soul now Geralt’s to own forever. The room is far away, everything apart from what the two of them are doing fading away, unimportant.

“Relax. Let it happen,” comes Geralt’s voice in his ear, and there’s something so reassuring about it immediately does what he’s told, releasing an outcry that muffles Geralt’s swearing as he bites into Jaskier’s shoulder to ground himself.

The world is suspended, if even for a second, something having snapped in the both of them.

Their movements are slow as they untangle themselves ever so carefully, limbs heavy and tired. They were so intertwined with each other just minutes ago, it’s hard for them to imagine separating now, and it’s especially worrying for Jaskier, who can’t tell if this was more than a one-time thing.

“I’ve got you,” says Geralt, holding him close, arms wrapped around his warm, delicate body. For the bard it is a moment of peace while his head and heart are at war, trying to make a decision about what would be better. “Stop thinking so much. You’ll give both of us a headache at this rate, but if you have to think, do it quietly.”

“Was it pity? Is that why you fucked me?” He both does and doesn’t know why he’s said the question out loud, but he can’t take it back. It’s out, in the air, uncatchable.

Geralt’s heart stops short, shocked and hurt that Jaskier would think such a thing. “Of course not. I know I haven’t exactly written a song about it, but that doesn’t make my feelings for you any less true. I would never hurt you in my life, Jaskier, and if someone else should try, I promise to protect you, should it cost me my own life.”

He kisses him again, something incredibly powerful behind it. It’s as though Geralt is trying to take away all of Jaskier’s insecurities, kissing away his worries and soothing his heart. There is no rush, just two boys in love taking their time and holding onto the feeling of warmth and comfort, because a moment as honest like this is fleeting, constantly slipping through fingers.

“I’m terrified. You have to understand that, for me, this all seems like a dream, and I’ll wake up to you barely speaking to me again,” says Jaskier, fighting back any hidden tears. “I don’t think I’m ready to look like a fool after confessing my love for you, even if it wasn’t planned.”

“You really love me?” Jaskier looks like he regrets saying anything, but Geralt is quick and doesn’t let him speak. “Then I feel like this is a good time to tell you that I love you too, and this definitely isn’t a dream.”

Geralt’s fingers are flitting up and down Jaskier’s side, golden eyes meeting cerulean ones with dried tears. He wipes them away, wanting to see his beautiful face stainless, before his fingers return to where they were before, drifting lower each time, and the smile on the bard’s face says it all.

“Come on,” says the bard to the Witcher. “You promised you’d fuck me until the bed broke.”

**Author's Note:**

> [my ko-fi](https://ko-fi.com/erissapphic)


End file.
